


Before the Fall

by theshinytardis (mojohwrites)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojohwrites/pseuds/theshinytardis
Summary: Officially, that fateful morning was the last time Molly Hooper spoke with Sherlock… but it was what he said to her that changed everything.
Kudos: 1





	Before the Fall

“What about John?“

It came out as barely a whisper. Molly swallowed, painfully, her mouth dry since his unexpected appearance in her lab. Lost deep in thought, he didn’t even move when she finally spoke. She had seen him like this before, and wondered if he had even heard her; she decided to repeat herself.

“What–”

“What about him?”

“He uh… Will he know about this? I mean, of course he’ll know, but I mean, will he _know_? Are you going to tell him that–”

_“No.”_

The sudden and dismissing rebuttal startled her, and she jumped slightly. Molly looked down at the ground, embarrassed by what felt like another one of her unintended but still complete awkward things she usually ended up saying. Molly always wished she could say the right things around him, but every time she was in his presence her mouth went dry, her words became fuddled, and she couldn’t think straight.

But she also knew that today was different, _he_ was different. Something was wrong, or else he would never have come to her. So she had to try again… for his sake. 

“Well isn’t he…” she glanced up at him, “Isn’t he your best friend? Shouldn’t he know that—”

“No.”

The reply was still blunt, but now she thought she heard something in his voice that sounded different. He was still sitting there stiffly on the chair across from her, like a block of living stone, the tips of his fingers pressed together in thought.

“No. For this plan to work, no one else must know the truth. I’m already involving too many others… No. _He_ , most of all, must not know.”

His piercing eyes turned and looked straight at her.

“He mustn't know, Molly. This is _critical_. Whatever happens, John must _not_ know that I will survive this. He must believe that I am _dead_.”

It was too much for her to hold eye contact for that long. She dropped her gaze, staring at the ground again, rubbing her shoe slightly against the metal work table. It took awhile before her courage mounted again.

“But he’s your _friend_ , Sherlock. It is going to be… it’s going to be hard for him when you’re… gone.”

He sighed, a sign that usually meant that he was exasperated with her.

“I know,” he said, turning away from her and towards the plans which were so important. He placed his hand over them gently, with resolution.

“I know that it will be hard for him—breaking even. But I have to trust that he can survive this, or… or it will all be for nothing.”

He looked back at her again, and in this moment Molly was given a fleeting glance into the soul of the man thought by many to be soulless. They were truly windows: those piercing, analytical eyes were so full of fire and ice and rage… but also a terrible sadness. He was going to give up so much, just to ensure that everyone would be safe.

Impulsively slow, she walked over to where he was sitting, and, mustering up all the courage her small frame could contain, Molly Hooper did something she thought she never would.

She gently placed her hand on top of his—it wasn’t a romantic gesture.

Sherlock’s hand was cold, deathly cold, and there was a slight tremor that caused his long fingers to shake almost imperceptibly. When she finally realized what she was doing, Molly’s face began to redden, but she stayed quiet. He didn’t draw his hand away, but instead looked at her questioningly.

Molly smiled back at him and in a voice barely audible, shakily whispered, “You can count on me.”

Then, silently, she turned around and walked away, moving towards the door. As she pushed it open, Molly thought she heard him make a slight noise, but she didn’t want to turn around. Moving quickly down the corridor, she wanted to put as much space between them as possible. A few tears were starting to run down her face, but she used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe them away messily. It was fierce irony that she met John on the stairs.

“Are you alright, Molly?” he said, pausing a few stairs below her. John was always considerate and nice to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little tired I guess. It’s been a long night. I am just going to catch a nap… Oh, and he’s back there if you’re looking for him. Sherlock, I mean.”

“Thanks.”

And with that he brushed past her, leaving her standing there on the stairs. It was awhile before she resumed walking down them–she had come to a realization. The noise she had heard Sherlock make as she was leaving now made sense…

 _Thanks_. 

Sherlock had said _Thanks_.


End file.
